


Soft

by Lady_Lola



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Declarations Of Love, First Kiss, First Time, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Self-Esteem Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-02
Updated: 2019-07-02
Packaged: 2020-06-02 18:21:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19446994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Lola/pseuds/Lady_Lola
Summary: There's a word that has always haunted Aziraphale's existence.





	Soft

**Author's Note:**

> I thought "Shedding" would have been the only story to be posted here. but then the mood struck again and I wrote this. I hope you'll like it :)  
> As usual, comments and critics are accepted, but remember English is not my first language.

If there is a word that has always been used to describe the Principality Aziraphale, Guardian of the Eastern Gate, sword bearer, that word would be “soft”.

That was how he had been intended since the beginning of Everything, God herself had made sure of that: big, cushioning wings, soft, white with golden highlights feathers and plumes, and curly, velvety blond hair.

Softness and sweetness were also intrinsic features of his personality.  
The gentle tone in his voice, the plain but relaxing colours of the tailored clothes he wore, the kindness and forgiveness which were always lingering in the back of his eyes when he looked at someone, especially someone who had just sinned, and the way he touched his ancient books, as if they were the most precious thing in the entire Creation (and to him they were, I mean, they were BOOKS!) were all expressions of the everlasting sense of peace and love he had felt since his “birth” he showed on his human vessel.

Unfortunately for him, softness was a personal trait that the highest rankings in Heaven really frowned upon: they needed, though it would be better to say that they wanted, soldiers, heavenly fighting machines who had no other purpose in life that destroying Hell and remould the Earth as it had been before the Original Sin: no chances to sin, no danger of deviating from the Holy Plan... in few words, no Free Will.

The more time passed, the more Archangels and other high ranking orders of Heaven disliked Aziraphale: despite him thinking that his friendship with the demon Crawly had passed under their radar, they all knew about the not-so-secret meetings through all history, the glances they shot each other when the other wasn’t looking, the quiet days the demon spent at the shop, and the delicious dinners the angel then offered him.

It was natural then, that when they started berating and belittling him, his internal and external softness was the weak point they decided to go for.  
So many times they commented on how he wasn’t fit to be a soldier of Heaven, how living on Earth, eating like a glutton, drinking and enjoying arts and beauty were shameful peculiarities for an angel.

Aziraphale tried so hard to rebuff all their accusations: he kept repeating himself that he was exactly the way God had made him, that She had created the world and all its beauties to be enjoyed and lived, and that despite not being the most loyal of the soldiers, he always did what Heaven asked him to and was successful in his missions.

However, rebutting their hurtful words was becoming more and more difficult day by day; every time he went to Heaven, the sneering and the comments about him were getting heavier to bear.  
The Almost Apocalypse brought few low blows to his already faltering self-esteem: first when he met Gabriel at the park and the Archangel mocked him while jogging, then when Michael, Uriel and Sandalphon ambushed him and roughed him up outside his shop, and finally, when Crowley renounced their friendship and claimed he was leaving Earth without him.

After defusing the war between Heaven and Hell, putting Satan back to his place, and facing the “Trial” (although his, more than a trial, had been just an execution), he felt emotionally, mentally and physically tired.  
Despite the jolly façade Aziraphale put up when he was with Crowley, every time they met for lunch, or spent some time together, when he got back to his shop, he fell exhausted on his sofa.

Today is no different. Crowley has just taken him back to his shop after a delightful dinner of confit de canard, moules and crepes (a quick trip to Paris was in order after so much time), and Aziraphale is now lying on the comfy sofa he keeps in the backroom.  
He keeps the head in his hands; he knows he should be happy, because there’s nothing in his life that prevents him from being so: the Apocalypse didn’t happen, both him and  
Crowley are finally their own agents, they’re spending quality time together without being judged by demons or angels, and he can finally enjoy the things he loves...and yet the word haunts him.

He feels, indeed, soft.  
Not the good kind of softness, the one of baby rompers, well-baked sponge cakes or cashmere vests, the kind of things he had always compared his body to.  
He feels soft as in weak, gullible, so easy to play around and stomp upon.

Crowley finds him still there on the sofa, hours later.  
He seems like he hasn’t moved all night: he is still wearing the same clothes he had at dinner, but now they’re crumpled and stained with his tears; his eyes are closed as he is sleeping, but Crowley can see the redness and puffiness of the eyelids and know Aziraphale spent hours and hours crying. He slowly kneels next to the sofa and puts a hand on his friend’s chest.

“Oh angel” he murmurs, and immediately would like to get it back because when Aziraphale stirs and opens his eyes.

“Oh, Crowley, what are you doing here? I… I must have lost track of time! I apologise, I’ll be back to you in a jiffy!”

Aziraphale rubs his fingers over his face to wipe away the signs of tears and moves to get up, but Crowley’s hand still on his chest blocks him.  
“What’s happening, my friend? Is there something wrong?” Aziraphale inquires, still not quite meeting the demon’s worried eyes.

“You ask me what’s wrong? I’m not the one who spent the entire night crying his eyes out” Crowley yells, baffled by his friend’s words.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” Aziraphale yells back, standing up so abruptly his legs shake for a moment.  
“Now, if you excuse me, I’ve got things to do!” he adds, trying to flat out the wrinkles in his suit and failing miserably.

“Oh no no no no! You’re not getting out of this so quickly!”  
Crowley grabs him by the arm, stopping him on his spot. He throws his glasses away, plants himself in front of the angel and stares at him.

Golden eyes gazing into blue ones, he tries, not quite making it, to hide the despair bleeding in his voice.  
“What has gotten into you, angel? You’re not yourself, you haven’t been since we saved the world”.

There’s nothing Aziraphale can do but sigh slowly and confess.  
“I know I haven’t, Crowley. It’s just… I feel like I don’t have a purpose here. And I’m not just talking about the Great Plan, I’m talking about… everything. What good can a soldier who doesn’t want to fight do? Look at me! I’m not built to be an angel! So out of shape, so fat! So soft, inside and outside!”  
He wants to start crying again. He can’t believe he’s saying this in front of the only person he never wanted to let down.

“Aziraphale, now you listen to me, and you listen good” Crowley starts, moving his head continuously to catch the angel’s averting eyes; “You don’t have to be a soldier, you don’t have to be like them! Who would want to? They wanted to destroy the world, so that they could have their fun! None of them, not a single one, has ever asked God if she really wanted the war! It was all their doing! Thank God you’re not like them, She had finally done something right for once!”

Aziraphale is shocked at hearing these words.  
“That’s blasphemy!” he cries, but Crowley just shrugs and keeps talking.  
“Well, it’s the truth, and it’s not like I can fall even lower than I already did the first time, so who cares if I’m being blasphemous, you’re being stupid!”  
“Well, thank you Crowley, that’s exactly what I needed to hear right now!” Aziraphale sasses, and tries to wriggle free from the demon’s hands.

“Oh just stop it!”  
Crowley doesn’t just keep him in his spot, but pushes him against the wall and plants the hands next to his shoulders.  
“Have you ever thought...”, Crowley begins speaking, but stops abruptly because he can’t make his words flow around the knot he has in the throat, “Have you ever considered the fact that, had you been the “perfect soldier” Heaven wanted you to be, we wouldn’t have been friends? That we wouldn’t have had what we had through all history?”  
The demon is almost crying now, but he doesn’t stop.  
“You say you’re soft like it’s a bad thing, and I can’t stand it! If you weren’t so soft, I couldn’t do this!”

And that being said, he takes Aziraphale by his collar and kisses him.

Of course, Crowley has dreamt of doing it for so long, he can’t think of a time he didn’t want to do it.  
He simply melts into the kiss, planting his whole body against Aziraphale’s and closing his eyes to better enjoy the moment.

Aziraphale is positively frozen on the spot.  
He knows he should be doing something, well, anything, but he can’t bring himself out of his stupor.  
He has waited this moment for so long, and yet he’s now paralysed in fear.  
On the one hand, he would like to give in to his pent-up passion and forget himself in the sweetness and heat of Crowley’s lips, but on the other hand, he knows that this is something that’s gonna change their relationship, and he fears for a negative outcome.  
Losing Crowley would be the end of him.

The choice is torn away from him when Crowley presses his body against his. How can he possible resist, when the love of his life is warm, pliant and willing in front of him?  
Aziraphale wraps his arms around Crowley and tightens, feeling all the bones in his back through his thin skin and clothes.  
They kiss for a while, losing themselves in the passion; before they’re quite realising it, they are undressing each other carefully, but inexorably: when their jackets are gone, Crowley slowly works on the buttons of Aziraphale’s vest and shirt, while Aziraphale untucks the demon’s shirt from his trousers and slides his hands under it to touch his love’s skin.  
Crowley, on his hand, has just finished working on his upper clothes, and is now placing his hands on the angel’s torso.

That’s when Aziraphale freezes.  
Sensing his lover’s discomfort, Crowley stops the kiss and looks at his face: Aziraphale looks terrified and, even worst, so ashamed.

“What’s happening, angel? Don’t you like it?” Crowley worries, and Aziraphale rolls his eyes not to look at him.  
“I just...”, he stammers, “I just don’t think you’re going to like what you’ll find” he says in a resigned voice.  
“I can assure you, honey”, Crowley replies, “that I’m very much liking what I’ve found so far. More precisely, I love it.  
I love you” Crowley states, and hears Aziraphale exhale loudly.

“Since when?” the angel asks.  
“Well, you caught my interest on the wall of Eden, and then… It just happened gradually, I can’t really think of a moment when I didn’t love you” the demon admits, not without a tad of shyness.

“That’s the same for me, my love” Aziraphale replies, “that’s why I’m scared. What would happen if it all went wrong?”.  
“It’s not gonna happen, you know. We’ve waited so much time, we won’t allow it!”

Crowley sounds so sure, so strong, Aziraphale feels a new surge of love bubbling inside him. He grabs his face and kisses him, open-mouthed and pushing his tongue in the other’s mouth.  
Crowley takes the kiss as a permission to proceed, and puts his hands back on the angel’s body. Aziraphale trembles, but doesn’t stop him again, and the demon feels free to touch and explore as much as possible.  
He detaches his lips from Aziraphale’s, but before he can protest, he latches them on the angel’s chest. He finds the nipples first with his skillful fingers, then brings his mouth to them alternating kisses and delicate bites. 

The sounds that come from Aziraphale’s mouth are definitely lewd now, and when he slides his fingers in the demon’s flaming red hair, Crowley is sure he’s discorporated and somehow ended up back in Heaven again. Or, at least, his very own version of Heaven.  
He starts going down, leaving wet trails of kisses and licks on Aziraphale’s lightly haired stomach. 

“So beautiful, my angel” Crowley says reverently against his lover’s skin.  
“Soft as the most precious silk, as the richest cashmere”.  
Aziraphale chuckles embarrassed at the demon’s words, but then caresses his face and glances lovingly at him.

Crowley moves his fingers to Aziraphale’s crouch, opening the button and slowly lowering the zip.  
He then gets on his knees, and when he looks up to Aziraphale’s face, he sees him longing for his kisses, pupils blown wide in lust.

Crowley is no stranger to sex, being a demon and all, but he can’t help but feeling nervous now: he knows for a fact that it’s Aziraphale’s first time (thanks to a drunk confession many decades ago), and he wants to give him the best experience ever.  
He slowly pulls Aziraphale’s penis out of the underwear, caressing it while he still kisses his tummy; then, his lips leave their spots, and he places them oh the head of the angel’s cock.

Aziraphale shudders, closing his eyes and letting his head fall back until it hits the wall; he’s lucky he’s leaning against a wall, otherwise he would have already fallen.

Crowley’s lips are firmly around his cock now, and he’s moving his head up and down the shaft; Aziraphale puts his hands back in his hair, and he slowly caresses the demon’s head while he’s sucking him.  
Crowley does his best to give Aziraphale pleasure, humming softly and using his tongue to tease every inch of the beautiful penis he has in his mouth.

Aziraphale feels his pleasure building up, like the beginning of a storm with thunders and lightnings in the distance; he wants to warn Crowley, but no words form in his mouth.  
Crowley, for his part, doesn’t give a damn about warnings: he wants to feel his love explode in his mouth, wants to sip his purest essence, wants to drink him up and be one with him.  
He adds his hands to his mouth, massaging Aziraphale’s sac and caressing his cock at the base while he keeps his lips of the sensitive head.

Aziraphale chokes on a sob, and before he can realise it, he’s spilling down Crowley’s throat; the demon hums happily, swallowing to the last drop and joining him in the orgasm.  
Then, he carefully cleans the angel with a silk handkerchief, tucks him in, and stands up. 

As soon as he finds himself face to face with his love, Aziraphale kisses him languidly. 

“Oh Crowley, thank you! I’ve never felt so good before, and it’s all on you. I love you” Aziraphale whispers, staring lovingly in the demon’s naked eyes.  
“I love you, too, angel” Crowley replies, closing his eyes and resting his forehead against the angel’s.  
“Even if I’m a softie?”  
“You’re my softie, and that’s all that matters to me”.


End file.
